


Gone With the Ice Cream

by CelticKnot12



Category: Psych
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot12/pseuds/CelticKnot12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn has an encounter with a psychopath that leaves him and Gus chilling in a freezer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on Psychfic. Please read, review, and most importantly, enjoy :)

Shawn sighed heavily, watching his breath turn frosty. Though at first it had been mildly entertaining to watch the moist air from his lungs freeze, it had gotten old. Quickly.

They had been in here for how long now? He had no way of telling the time, since he could no longer force his fingers to operate the touch screen on his phone. They were stiff and numb, and whenever he grazed the screen he left a residue of red liquid. His phone was moving sluggishly in the unbearable cold anyways, hesitating to even bring up the unlocking screen.

Almost wistfully, he drew it out, smoothing his fingers across the labeled cover. The cheerful green color was cold in the blue-ish lighting, adding to the cool aura of the freezer.

He released a hopeless chuckle as he glanced at the room whose nuances he had long since memorized. White ice coated metal walls that pulled skin away when touched. Aluminum shelves shimmered frozenly in the cool light, which emanated from a florescent bulb that couldn't decide whether to turn off or on, and showed no favoritism by flickering between both continually. Stacks of cardboard boxes filled with ice cream sandwiches, fudge bars, and the fixings for sundaes slumped against the walls with a disturbingly soggy appearance.

And all of those details did him absolutely no good.

 

_Shawn darted through the warehouse door, brandishing the tire iron he had stolen from the trunk of Gus's car. No one was in the enormous building, which made it a perfect time to sleuth. Pulling out the phone that he had tucked into his jeans pocket, his finger slid over to the speed dial and pressed against his best friend's name._

_"Hello?" Gus picked up groggily._

_Shawn grinned. As soon as he bothered to look at the caller-ID, Gus would be furious—and awake._

_"Hey buddy!"_

_"Shawn!"_

_There it was. "Look, I need you to help me with a case."_

_"It's one o'clock in the morning, Shawn, no way am I going to drive out to who-knows-where and help you stake out some guy who, chances are, has only ever gotten in trouble for waiting too long to fill his parking meter." Gus sounded disgusted, and every amount of sleepiness that had been in his voice before had wormed its way out._

_"Gus, everybody has something to hide."_

_"Even you?"_

_"Of course! It just so happens that you know everything I have to hide, though."_

_"I'm hanging up."_

_"Wait, Gus! This is more than a random case! Some girl came by the office this morning… or is it yesterday morning now?"_

_"Technically? Yesterday."_

_"Yeah, yesterday, and she said she was in big trouble and that she needed our help."_

_"If she needed our help, why did you wait until now to tell me?"_

_"Because, Gus." Shawn paused and sighed, reluctant to hurt his friend's feelings by revealing what a wet blanket he sometimes was. "Sometimes you can be a bit… hesitant to investigate cases like this."_

_"Like what? Is this another ghost case, Shawn? Because I have made it clear how I feel about those."_

_"No, nothing like that. Well, not exactly. It doesn't really involve the supernatural." He carefully scooted his way around the topic, deliberately piquing Gus's curiosity._

_"If it involves normal people, normal situations, and normal murders, I have no problem with cases!" Gus protested, the speaker suddenly seeming loud in the darkness._

_"Yeah, well, the person in the case is mostly normal."_

_"Mostly?"_

_"Yeah… This girl thinks that there might be a psychopath hanging out around her property after hours."_

_"A psychopath? No way is this our jurisdiction, Shawn!"_

_"Our jurisdiction? Do we even have that? We're a private detective service."_

_"It's dangerous to go hunting for someone like that! You should call the police."_

_"Yeah, but she wanted it handled… delicately."_

_"Why?" Gus paused, and Shawn knew he was working some things out. "Exactly how old is this 'girl'?"_

_"Using my skills of approximation and deduction, in which I am not lacking, I might add, I would guess… 44? Forty-seven at the most."_

_"Why 47?"_

_"Because, Gus! You know how I feel about prime numbers."_

_"A personal sentiment puts a cap on your estimation of someone's age." Gus stated skeptically._

_"Nah, I just felt like, since it's a prime number, I should give it a shout-out. I'm done now."_

_"So, is the psychopath this 'girl's' son?"_

_"… It's a vague possibility."_

_"What did she want you to do that the police can't do?"_

_Shawn paused guiltily. He knew that the kid belonged in some sort of mental hospital that was prepared to deal with him, but his mother had been so… involved. She really cared about her child, and, mother of a psychopath or no, he couldn't make himself say, "Sorry, no can do, call the police and release your kid to a psychiatric hospital that will probably keep him in a white room with four padded walls 24-7."_

_Gus had figured it out too. "Shawn, we can't just give him to his mom. It'll put a lot of people in danger, including her."_

_"I know, she just… she kind of reminded me of my mom."_

_He heard a loud sigh that crackled through the speakers, followed by the thump of something landing on the floor. "Okay, I'll come. Where are you?"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is chapter two. Brief spoiler for Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark.

A soft groan echoed in the corner of the freezer, and Shawn looked over, anxiously moving to Gus's side.

"Hey dude. How're you doing?" He tried to sound normal, like nothing was wrong, even though they both knew they were screwed.

"I'm okay. I'm starting to go numb." Gus had his hands pressed tightly to his abdomen, holding the over shirt that Shawn had been wearing against a dark patch of blood. "I thought you said your gunshot wound didn't go numb." Gus sounded slightly accusing, which was odd, because when Shawn was shot he would have given anything for his injury to stop hurting.

Shawn pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to shield his arms from the cold. "It didn't, but I wasn't stuck in a freezer when I was shot."

Gus gave a slight cough that could have been an attempt at a chuckle. "Good point."

Both sat quietly for a second, shivering in the intense refrigeration.

"So… who does this make me?"

"What?" Shawn lifted his nose from its resting spot between his knees.

"If this was a movie, what actors would we be? Who would I be?"

"Does it matter?"

Gus chuckled softly, and this time his laugh sounded like a real one. "Shawn, we are stuck in a freezer, and unless someone finds us, we're going to freeze to death. And if we don't freeze to death…" He paused, apparently recalling the events that had brought them here. "Of course it doesn't matter!"

"Then why are you trying to bring up something that will just waste energy?" Shawn knew he was being harsh, but right now he was feeling a bit angry. At himself, mainly.

Gus stopped laughing somewhat abruptly, the small smile sliding off his face and returning to a grimace. "Well, I'm sorry if my trying to help your morale is a waste of breath."

Shawn didn't reply, leaving the silence angry.

"What's got you so down?"

Shawn sighed. "Nothing."

 

_Gus pulled up to the warehouse at one forty-five, flicked his lights off, and stepped warily from the safe confines of his vehicle. He looked so strangely out of place with his suit and tie in the graffiti covered building that Shawn had to bite back a laugh._

_"Over here." Shawn stepped outside, enjoying the blast of warm air that thawed his air-conditioned face._

_Gus hurried over at a jog in an apparent attempt to get out of the open space as quickly as possible. "So, what's the plan?"_

_"I don't know, I was thinking more along the lines of winging it."_

_"Wing it? With a psycho around?"_

_"… That was what I was planning, yeah."_

_"Wow." Gus shook his head with something not quite like disgust, but akin to it. "I'm surprised you've made it through life as far as you have."_

_"Period, or is there some sort of statement about my astounding number of hospital visits going to be tacked on the end?"_

_"I was going to leave it at that, but now that you bring it up, both work."_

_A loud clanking noise came from the core of the building, and Shawn motioned to Gus, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Come on."_

_"Shawn!" Gus hissed._

_"What? Cornering a psychopath and talking him down entails walking toward creepy noises. I assumed you knew this was a given." Shawn stated wryly._

_Gus heaved a sigh that was frighteningly close to a sob—and not a very manly sob—as he crouched down and entered the building. "Do you have any sort of defense in mind?"_

_Shawn picked up the tire iron and handed it to him._

_"Is this mine?"_

_"Yeah, I found it in the back of your car. Why?"_

_"Shawn! I need this in case my car breaks down!"_

_"Yes, but the chances of you doing that are quite small with the level of care you give the Blueberry. Besides, when I take a tire iron, I'm slightly more concerned about me than a car. No offense to the hallowed vehicle."_

_"None taken."_

_Another loud clatter echoed through the warehouse. Gus brought the tire iron up to his chest._

_"I don't think this is—"_

_"Shh!" Shawn motioned for silence, and in response Gus dropped to the ground, trying to take up as little room as possible and be an unnoticeable lump._

_Shawn glanced around the room. Gus's playing-dead routine wasn't going to work, since he was the only furnishing on the enormous span of cement flooring._

_"Gus, you might want to stand up."_

_"No, Shawn, I'm staying right here."_

_Shawn was starting to get a bit flustered. "There's an ominous black silhouette advancing this way with something shaped like a gun in its hand, and I'm pretty sure the only thing laying on the floor will do for you is make it harder to run. Besides, you have the tire iron."_

_Gus stood up rapidly._

_A bang shook the room._


	3. Chapter 3

"Mark Hamill."

"What?"

"You'd be Mark Hamill. I'd be Harrison Ford." Shawn rubbed his nose with a finger before tucking his arm back into the space between his body and his legs.

"Star Wars? You could have done better."

"Yeah, but comparing myself to Harrison Ford helps my morale. That's what you wanted, right?"

Gus shrugged. "I guess."

The freezer rebounded to silence once more, until the hum of air to keep the area cold kicked in.

They had been waiting for help for a few hours now, but Shawn had no idea if someone would be able to figure out where they were. He didn't do paperwork on their cases, and he hadn't told anyone what they were doing, not even Gus, until earlier when he called him to come to the warehouse.

His phone gave a residual beep, making sure for the twentieth time that Shawn knew the battery was dead. He wanted the tone to go away, to stop repeating itself every five minutes, but that would include turning the phone off, and made him feel like he was resigning himself to death by hypothermia. And the fact that he was only wearing a tee-shirt and jeans didn't help.

Gus was in bad shape, too. He had extra layers that Shawn didn't, but they didn't make much difference when hypothermia was competing with blood loss and shock.

Comparing himself to Harrison Ford wasn't really helping his morale.

 

_Gus dropped back to the ground, tire iron clattering loudly on the floor, the echoes bounding loudly against the walls in an attempt to outshine the gunshot from a second before. Shawn's hand came up to his mouth in shock, clenching into a fist as he struggled to gather his thoughts._

_The figure with the gun rushed forward, and Shawn felt dimly in the back of his mind that maybe he should do something. Slowly, almost sluggishly, he leaned down to grab the tire iron that lay beside Gus. He wouldn't have time, though. He knew that, even as he bent down. His body wasn't functioning properly, something was wrong, and it had everything to do with his friend lying on the floor._

_His disjointed movement brought him to an upright position just as the silhouette drew close enough to be slightly visible in the darkness. As it slammed into him in a tackle and pushed him to the cement, he had time for one fragmented thought._

_It was that girl._

_He groaned, gradually realizing that the weapon was pushed against his chest._

_"Stand up." She whispered, which didn't really make sense since there wasn't anyone to hide from anymore._

_Shawn struggled to his feet, glancing over at Gus._

_He was conscious-though Shawn couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing-and his feet were moving with agony._

_"Please," he said, quietly._

_The woman pointed the gun anew and motioned for him to lower his voice._

_He started again. "Please, let Gus go."_

_"He wasn't part of the plan, Spencer. He wasn't part of the plan."_

_What plan? He decided to play along. "I know that, and I'm sorry. He's my partner, so I decided to have him come, too."_

_"You can't just change the plans!" Her voice raised in pitch, but not volume. "It messes everything up. You messed everything up!"_

_Shawn glanced helplessly at Gus. He had. "I know. I'm sorry."_

_"Sorry doesn't cut it." She hissed. After a moment's thought, she pointed the gun at Gus._

_"Wait! He wasn't part of the plan." Shawn raised his hands defenselessly, but also in protest._

_"I know; I have to get rid of him."_

_"If you do anything to him, how do you know that won't change everything else?"_

_"It can't be changed any more than it already has been!"_

_Shawn clenched his jaw, trying to get himself under control. "But… everything we do has a reaction. Any Syfy show would tell you that. Killing Gus would change me, and if you change me, that changes the plan too."_

_The woman paused thoughtfully, then nodded, gesturing with the gun for him to grab Gus. "Over here."_

_Shawn grabbed Gus by the wrists, glancing in the direction she pointed. A freezer that in some ways resembled a vault stood with its door wide open. The door must have been opened before she shot Gus._

_It must have been part of the plan._


	4. Chapter 4

The shivering was starting to wear off. If hypothermia was anything like it was in the movies, then that was a bad sign.

Shawn watched Gus, whose face had grown paler within the past hour. If they didn't get out of here soon, they were finished.

Maybe that was part of the plan.

For a psycho/serial killer, though, this seemed like a mild form of death. Didn't they plan ways to torture their victims before they killed them?

Shawn exhaled, then leaned toward the boxes of ice cream. If he was going to die, he was going to die happy.

Gus blinked his eyes open at the movement, observing quietly as Shawn pulled out a package of ice cream sandwiches. "That will probably lower your body temperature even more."

Peeling the wrapper off of the dessert, he bit slowly into the crisp, chocolate cookie that was wrapped around vanilla ice cream. "I figure if I'm going to die…"

"Someone will rescue us." Gus looked taken aback at the gloominess of his friend.

"Yeah, but if they don't, at least I'll die with chocolate on my tongue and vanilla in my heart."

Gus rolled his eyes.

Abruptly, the freezer door slid open, the only sound it made coming from it brushing against the gritty floor. Then the lady was there, talking in a regular voice. "Shawn? Shawn, are you okay?"

Surprise wrinkled its way across Shawn's forehead. What was wrong with this woman? "Aside from some major frostbite and my organs threatening to shut down, I think you could plausibly say that."

She stepped forward. The gun she had shot Gus with was tucked into her belt. "I'm sorry about your partner. I didn't have a choice. When she saw Burton, she was scared because she wasn't ready."

Shawn stared at her. "… She? Aren't you she?"

The woman paused, staring glumly at him. "She is me, but I'm not her."

"Is this one of those square and rectangle situations? Because those always got me."

"My name is Gerry. Hers isn't."

"Gerry, really? I didn't realize that was a girl's name, and you didn't say that yesterday."

"It's short for Geraldine. I prefer Gerry."

"I can't say I blame you." Gus muttered from his corner.

"Burton, please." Shawn nudged teasingly before pointing his question back at Gerry. "Why did you lie?"

"I need someone to stop her. I can't do it."

"You have multiple personalities?"

"No, only two."

"Some would consider that multiple personalities."

"Well, that makes it sound like way more than it is. How about couple personalities?"

"It's slightly awkward grammatically, but I guess we could make it work."

"I am sorry I lied to you in your office, and I'm sorry she put you in here."

Shawn wrapped his hands around his elbows and struggled stiffly to his feet. "Does she have a name?"

Gerry shook her head. "She hasn't told me what it is. I'm afraid to ask her."

"Why ask us for help? Aren't there other people more qualified?" Shawn bit his lip in thought.

"I was in a hospital for a while, and the people said they'd help me, but they couldn't. They gave me medicine, and when I took it, she hurt me."

"What makes me more qualified?"

"I thought… instead of her taking over, as a psychic you could talk to us at the same time?"

Shawn paused, attempting to think fast. "That's not how it works."

Gerry gasped, shrinking back. "She's coming."

Shawn took a step forward. "Wait, just one more—"

Gerry's expression changed suddenly, from tentative to aggressive. "Get back!" She ripped the gun from her belt and pointed it at Gus.

Shawn lifted his hands, shuffling backward into the freezer. "Wow, this really gives me a sense of—"

She slammed the door shut.

"—Déjà vu." Shawn turned to Gus. "Fudge bar?"

Gus pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing heavily. "Why not."


	5. Chapter 5

Shawn struggled to keep his eyes open, but between the frost clinging to his eyelashes and the cold induced stupor even that mundane task was practically impossible.

He was so tired.

Gus was lying across the room, and if he wasn't dead yet, he would be soon. Both of them would be. They had figured it out after Gerry's "other" had locked them in here again.

That had brought on an ice cream spree that had been entirely satisfying… while they were eating it, at least. Now, with wrappers strewn across the floor with careless disregard to general littering policies, Shawn found himself feeling slightly ill. Maybe he shouldn't have had that sixth fudge bar.

Or that ninth ice cream sandwich.

But somehow, the discomfort and pain made the situation more bearable. If he had something else to focus on, it meant he could temporarily forget how guilty he felt.

This whole thing was his fault.

It would be one thing if he had come here on his own and adhered to Gerry's counterpart's plan, but he had to bring Gus. He should have seen it coming. Seen something coming. But he always assumed if he and Gus were together when someone planned on shooting, both of them would be shot. He had never thought that it would be his fault that it happened.

If anyone deserved to die, it was him. Gus had a thriving career. Granted, it was one that would likely bore him out of his mind and drive him to insanity in the middle of his life, leaving his wife to deal with his family after he was carted off to a psychiatric ward and learned to play ping pong with his left hand and three fingers, but hey, to each his own.

But Shawn… Shawn had a dysfunctional family, a girlfriend who he was lying to in order to maintain a job that was entirely based on the lie he was telling, and a detective friend who hated his guts.

He was sorry.

He tried to tell Gus, but it was hard to make his tongue move to form the words.

He was so tired…

Everything turned black.

Henry leaned over the table in the break room, debating with himself over what donut he should pick.

It was seven in the morning, and he had been in a bit early, hoping to pull a few strings to get Shawn a case for this week. His son had been going a bit stir crazy the past few days without police cases or even a Psych case.

After picking through several files and eavesdropping on more than a few detectives, he had finally selected a case that he thought would utilize Shawn's unique skill set.

He snagged a jelly filled donut and headed back to his desk, hurrying up when the phone started ringing.

"Spencer." He squeezed the phone between his shoulder and his cheek, sliding out his chair with one hand and placing the pastry on a napkin with the other.

"Henry Spencer?" A female voice replied.

"Yeah?" Powder from the donut coated his fingers. He licked them aimlessly.

"I need to tell you something about your son."

Henry paused. "What?"

"He's trapped in a warehouse on East Valley Road with his friend."

"Gus? Where are they trapped?"

"I'm sorry, I have to go. But you need to come soon, or both of them will be dead."

Henry jumped to his feet. "Who is this? How did you get this number?" The dial tone hit his ears and he set the phone down on the jack.

"Who was that?" Henry looked up from his rapid preparation to leave to see Lassiter, standing with his jacket and a steaming cup of coffee.

"I don't know. Shawn's in trouble."

"Well that's nothing new. Spencer has the worst penchant for trouble I've ever seen. I'm surprised he isn't in prison serving a life sentence by now."

Henry glared. "Yeah, well, I just talked to this lady, and I'm not sure if she was threatening him or helping him. Either way, I need to go now."

"Alright, Spencer, hang on a second." Lassiter set his cup on his desk.

"I will not hang on. My son is in a dangerous situation, and he and Gus need help." Henry abandoned his donut, heading for the door.

Lassiter's voice echoed after him. "Wait up!"

He didn't wait up.

Lassiter caught up at a jog, panting. "Spencer, I'm coming too. If you're going into a potentially dangerous situation, you'll need a police officer with you."

"I am a police officer."

"Not anymore. Just let me come along. Consider me your backup if you have to."

Henry pushed open the door to the parking lot. "We're going in my car, I'm driving. My son, my rules. Soon as we have the situation under control, we call for additional backup. Are we clear?"

Lassiter looked a bit annoyed but nodded ruefully.

"Good." Henry opened the door to his truck. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is the last chapter. I know I don't answer a lot of questions about the lady, but I figure because of the origin of her strangeness, perhaps it doesn't need to explain. Also, note that my severe lack of medical knowledge shows. Forgive me for any anomalies from true medical occurrences. I only know what I can learn from M*A*S*H and Royal Pains, coupled with Wikipedia's infinite wisdom and one random intro to forensic anthropology class.
> 
> Anywho, don't forget to read, review, and, most importantly, enjoy :)

The warehouse that they arrived at was appropriately intimidating, with sheet metal walls that were rusted to a copper color. Lassiter, however, did not concede to intimidation, and refused to acknowledge it.

He drew his gun before Henry could open the door, motioning for the older man to get behind him. His suggestion was generally ignored; Spencer went right up to the building and pulled the screeching door open.

"Alright, Spencer, let me enter first with my gun, and I'll tell you when it's—"

Henry pushed past him into the building.

Lassiter threw a hand in the air. What was with the Spencers and their lack of safety precautions?

He entered the room quickly, stooped over with his gun pointed at the ground. There was no cover in here, which made it a risky place to enter without any sort of backup or some sort of protection. He glanced over at Henry, who was now carefully casing the room, looking for any signs of trouble.

"The freezer," Spencer pointed out. "It's the only place they could be." He darted over to the door, and had almost reached it when a gunshot echoed through the room.

"Get down!" Lassiter had no idea where it was coming from. Another shot dinged off the wall, throwing sparks where Henry had been standing a second before.

He trained his gun across the room, scanning for the shooter until he saw a flash from a door across the building.

"Police! Drop your weapon!" He shouted it as angrily as he could, hoping to incite some level of fear.

A whispered reply rebounded through the room, unintelligible through the repeating waves of sound.

"Drop it! Come out with your hands up!" He fired a shot in the direction of the flash, just to make his point.

A gleam of color moved in the doorway, and he took a shot at the movement, hoping that it wouldn't prove fatal. When the shape dropped, he ran forward, gun still out.

A woman lay on the ground, blood from a wound in her thigh dripping on to the concrete. As he kicked the weapon from her hand, a small smile lit her face. Lassiter tried to ignore the general creepiness.

"Thank you…" The woman stated hoarsely.

He stared at her for a moment before recovering and pulling out his handcuffs.

"You have the right to remain silent..." That eerie smile was still stretched across her face. Lassiter wished he could find some way to wipe it off.

"Lassiter! Over here!" Spencer called him as he shoved at the door to the cooler.

Lassiter grabbed the metal door of the freezer, attempting to ignore Henry's frenzied instructions. Slowly, it edged open, revealing two figures, one surrounded by food wrappers and the other lying in a pool of blood. It didn't take a genius to figure out which was which, and since Carlton knew which one Henry would be heading to, he immediately moved to the side of a very bloody Guster.

There was a lot of blood on the ground. Too much. He jerked off his jacket and pressed it against Gus's wound, noting the plaid, soaked fabric already there.

"Henry." Lassiter directed at the older man.

"Shawn… Shawn, wake up." Henry was tapping his son's face frantically in an attempt to wake him.

"Spencer!" Lassiter poured harshness into his voice, forcing the Henry to look at him. "I need you to go outside the freezer and call an ambulance. Now."

For the first time, it seemed Spencer was noticing Guster. "Oh, Gus…" He ran his hand down his face in an attempt to contain emotion.

"Right now, Spencer."

Henry nodded and jogged from the enclosed area, pulling out a cell phone as he did so.

Lassiter wasn't how long he sat there, pressing his jacket against Guster's wound, but it seemed like a long time before the paramedics came, pushing his hands aside and beginning their own work.

Henry looked similarly useless as he was pushed away from his son, whose lifeless body was being lifted onto a gurney.

"Come on." Lassiter lifted his hand in the air, indecisively hovering for a moment before resting it on Spencer's shoulder for a few pats. "I'll drive us to the hospital."

The white walls of the hospital glared at Shawn as he lay in the bed, nursing frost bitten fingers and a nose that wouldn't seem to warm to the temperature of the room.

The doctors had told him that, while hypothermia could kill you, it also didn't take long to heal, and the worst effects he would experience would be pain in his frost nipped fingers and toes and an intense longing for hot chocolate.

But his prognosis wasn't the one he was worried about. A nurse had meandered by earlier, and after he had managed to snag her attention he had asked about Gus's condition.

He had received a sympathetic glance and an upsettingly undetailed explanation that his friend was in surgery, and they didn't know when he'd come out of it.

So Shawn sat in his bed, waiting for some news and realizing that he should probably get word to his dad. He grabbed his phone, which was resting on the table next to him, flipped in contacts to the D's, and pressed call. To his surprise, the responding ringtone was growing louder, along with the sound of footsteps in the hall.

Henry appeared in the doorway.

Shawn tapped end call.

"Hey Dad."

"Hey kiddo." Henry approached his bed, crossing his arms to give them something to do. "How're you doing?"

Shawn nodded, unable to speak as he realized he was not doing very well at all. He ran a sore hand over his hair, frustration and guilt clear in the motion. "I'm okay."

Henry sat in the chair next to his bed. Shawn knew that he knew that he wasn't "okay." "Okay. I've got some word on Gus. A nurse just told me he's in surgery."

"Yeah, I heard the same thing."

"Oh."

"So, what happened to Gerry?"

"She's in a room in another ward, I think. She's got a guard, too. I think they stationed Buzz there."

"I think I'd suggest leniency for her case. She's kind of…"

"She has multiple personality disorder."

"Couple personality." Shawn laughed wryly.

"Yeah." Henry paused, examining his rough hands. "I think she called me to help you."

"Yeah? Good for her."

"Shawn…" Henry paused to clear his throat. "When she called, I…"

Shawn dipped his head, avoiding his father's eyes when his voice cracked.

"When she called, I was so… scared."

Shawn knew that he should take advantage of this admission, pounce on it, and make some smart remark about his father confessing fear. But that felt strangely inappropriate, with the terror for his friend bouncing around in his own insides. "Yeah… Me too."

Shawn was acutely aware of the moisture gathering in his father's eyes; he looked down to avoid Henry noticing his own tears.

"Look, kid. I'm sure Gus will be all right." Henry reached out to his son, placing his hand on his shoulder.

"Let's hope so, because if he isn't, it's my fault."

"It won't be your fault. It isn't your fault. Gus is a grown man, he makes his own decisions."

"But if I didn't annoy him into doing everything—"

Henry laughed. "Shawn, if you didn't annoy Gus into doing everything, he'd probably be stuck in an office at a computer playing Tetris all day to keep from dying of boredom."

Shawn looked up, meeting his dad's eyes. "I know, but… It still feels like it's my fault."

Henry bit his lip in thought. "I suppose it is, to some degree. Everyone makes choices that impact other people, whether we know it or not. When you chose to come back to Santa Barbara, you saved Gus from a life of boredom and me from…"

"Premature retirement?"

Henry chuckled. "Something like that. The point is, if you beat yourself up for every stupid thing that happens, you will be black and blue for the rest of your life. Everything is someone's fault, and it never boils down to just one person."

"Wow, Dad, thanks so much for that pep talk. I feel way better knowing that Gus getting shot was my fault. Thank you."

Henry smiled.

So did Shawn.

A doctor walked into the room. "Mr. Spencer?"

Both looked at him.

"Mr. Guster is out of surgery. His recovery is going to take a while, but he's going to be fine."

As quickly as he had come in, he was gone again.

"Why do I feel as though I just met Jack Shephard?" Shawn laughed lightly in relief.

Henry sighed, leaning back in his seat. "I knew he'd be okay."

"Which is quite clearly displayed in your extreme relief. Please, give me some credit, Dad."

"Oh, right, give you credit. For what?"

"You were worried, and you said you weren't. You think I can't tell when you're lying?" Shawn raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up." Henry stood. "I'm going to go the gift shop. What do you think Gus would like?"

"He likes Skittles." Shawn suggested. "But only the tropical flavored ones. Coconut is his favorite, so if you could get several bags and put all of that flavor in one—"

"Yeah, about that." Henry walked to the door. "Forget it."

Shawn grinned. Sometimes life's abrupt normalcy surprised him.

This was not one of those times.


End file.
